I've always felt like I march to a different drummer and this trip to one of the northernmost points of the lower 48 states just confirms that.
Normally during travel and upon the first day or so at our destination, I experience a small feeling of nostalgia for 'home'. When we landed here in Maine I felt no such thing. Actually I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I'm loving it here and walking along the shore makes me feel very Ghost and Mrs. Muirish. Now, I realize there's no snow on the ground (I mean it's only the middle of May!) but I can't get enough of the tangy and clear cold air. For the last two days, I've walked around downtown Bah Hahbah (Bar Harbor for those who don't get my humor) for hours and never once broke a sweat (even though I was wearing a hoody), my hair didn't stick to my neck, and the sun wasn't boring a hole through my hide. Since moving to Florida nearly three years ago, this kind of experience has become a totally alien to me. I'm not kidding when I say that, in Florida, I go get ice, and dump our garbage based on how sweaty I do or don't want to get. And we're talking about something like a tenth of a mile walk. A trip to Home Depot or West Marine even in an air conditioned vehicle? Once again, it just depends on the heat and humidity of that day. Last week I realized that I hadn't been to the beach in months so I went. But not before I slathered on tons of sunscreen and put on a long sleeved shirt that's supposed to protect you against the sun. I arrived home a hot mess and it isn't even summer yet.
This is the sandbar to Bar Island (in the background). It's accessible during low tide only which gives you about 4 hours to explore. Otherwise you have to wait for the next low tide to get back. No one will go there to get you if you're stupid enough to get stuck.
At the entrance to the sand bar during low tide.
And now during high tide.
Why I love cemeteries, I'll never know, but I find them to be very peaceful. Poor Elmer here died at the age of 15. However, I was very surprised to discover a few plots where the decedents lived well into their 80's. And this was back in the 1800's. Incredible.
Captain Hans will always be a little kid at heart. I still remember the time he drove the Ducky Boat in Pittsburgh.
What a bonus! Every night I open our balcony door for the fresh air and so I can hear the 'tree peeps' . Then I turn on the fireplace. I'm really gonna miss this.
And finally; a few years ago Wilbur made an attempt to show us how smart he was by spelling DOG or maybe GOD with our Scrabble tiles. He managed to nibble the D and the G tiles before we caught him and somewhere along the way an N disappeared. Yesterday I happened upon a quilt fabric store and low and behold they happened to have a bin of letters.
So this trip was obviously a complete success and very worth the purchase of a 55 cent Scrabble tile.